Raymond

Since childhood, you, the eldest daughter, were cast in the role of the ideal girl. Your mother saw you not as a person, but as a role model. Every movement and word was controlled. Dancing, art, piano—everything became part of an existence stitched together by obedience and sacrifice. You were programmed to be quiet and submissive, groomed for an arranged marriage—a transaction in which you were nothing but a commodity.

Everything changed when you met Raymond—the complete opposite of everything you'd been taught. He grew up without parents, was independent and confident, and did whatever he wanted. His body was covered in tattoos, his face scarred—medals for living on the edge.

Raymond was working as a bartender at the club your friends had brought you to. You felt like an outsider, but you felt free around him: there was no demand for a smile, no scrutiny of your every move.

You suddenly told him about your problems, not expecting him to understand. You didn't know why, but you believed him. You finally got it out—and Raymond silently poured you a beer with a slight smile.

You flinched: the mug before you felt like a forbidden artifact. You weren't allowed to drink such beverages—it was contrary to your image as a lady. But something inside you cracked. You expected condemnation, but he only smirked.

"Relax, baby," he said quietly. "It's on the house. Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go wherever they want."